To Keep You from the Gallows Pole
by WaywardSon5160
Summary: Nearing the end of Dean's year Sam finds a newspaper article that Dean has been keeping which he finds very upsetting. I apologize. I'm terrible at summaries. Much better than it sounds, I promise. Spoilers through 3x15.


To Keep You from the Gallows Pole

Spiel time: Here's a little ditty aboot the events leading up to 3x16. Sam finds a newspaper clipping in Dean's wallet that is upsetting. I suck at summaries. Title from Zeppelin. Spoilers through 3x15.

Disclaimer: I don't own jack. All the cool parts of the story belong to Eric Kripke.

A little bit about me that you might not have already known: I love ellipses. They sustain me in a way that Ramen noodles, Cheeze-its and bacon never will…

On to the story!

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Whoever named them Globsters sure as hell wasn't kidding. Sam ached everywhere. Rolling his shoulders and taking another swipe at his face, he only succeeded in moving the muck around without actually making any improvement. One look at his brother showed that Dean hadn't faired any better than he had. "You want first shower? You look like you took a nose dive into some sewage"

Dean threw him a look that screamed, _you're no looker yourself right now, Sammy. _For a brief moment Sam thought he saw something else flicker across his brother's face, _was that sadness? _"Nah, you go ahead." Dean shook his head and when he looked back again his cocky big brother was back, "But don't take too long, I'd like to get this slime off before it permanently leaves its stench in my… everything."

As Sam emerged from the shower finally feeling somewhat human again, he saw Dean was at the table just staring off into space. _Alright, enough is enough. _"Hey, you okay?" Sam asked as his brow creased in concern.

Dean cleared his throat, looking away his voice husky, "Yeah, I'm good. Just… You leave any hot water?"

Sam took a moment to respond, gauging whether it would be worth it to pry any deeper, "Nope, made sure all that's left is ice cold."

Dean smacked him on the back of the head. "Bitch. Hey, you wanna order a pizza while I scrape myself clean?" The force of the brotherly blow brought with it a whiff of Dean that made Sam regret everything he'd ever eaten.

Sam looked at Dean again as a glob of… something decided now was the time to slough off of his brother's shoulder and land with a stomach churning plop a few feet from Sam's bag. "You're covered in enough ooze to make the Ghostbusters gag and you want to get some food?"

"Come on, Sammy, the hunt's done, no broken bones, no gashes, slashes or puncture wounds, I think it's time to carbo load, huh? 'Sides, it's time to enjoy it, I've only got a couple…" Sam's face fell before Dean could finish his thought. Dean shook his head, mentally kicking himself for the slip up. _ As though Sam hasn't been counting down the minutes for the past 50 weeks. _"Look just don't get anything green on it, kay? I don't wanna eat it if it hasn't at some point oinked or mooed or… whatever it is Canadian bacon used to do…" Dean nudged his brother's shoulder hoping to get a smirk or a laugh, but Sam's eyes were still a thousand miles away.

"Yeah, sure. I'll get the pizza." Sam threw a false smirk at his brother, no use saying anything else. Dean knew how he felt about this damn deal from the very start. As Dean turned to head into the bathroom, already removing layers of sludge covered shirts, Sam remembered something. "Hey you got any cash? I spent all I had on salt and accelerant" Sam looked up just in time to feel the slap of Dean's wallet as it collided wetly with his cheek. A genuine smile cracked his features in two as he peeled the sticky, slime-covered wallet off his face. "Jerk!"

Sam sent in the order, making sure to load three quarters of it with nothing but vegetables, and sat down on one of the creaky hotel chairs. As was becoming custom when he was left alone with his thoughts, he wound up thinking about Dean's deal. _Less than two weeks… And we've got bubkis. _Sam's contacts had slowly stopped calling, his leads dried up. _This is the most important thing I've ever done and I'm failing… I won't, I __can't__ give up. There's got to be a way…_ Sam reached for Dean's slime covered wallet to get the cash out before he could lose himself in his morose thoughts. Sam chuckled at the ridiculous contents. Lottery ticket from 1997. Picture of mom. A bit of string? A picture of the Impala. _Such a freak._ A bank accounted listed under Samuel Browning? Picture of them in front of the Morton Mansion. _Freaking Grand Canyon. _ And a newspaper clipping…

"**Unidentified woman mauled in hotel room**. Woman appeared to have been attacked by what forensic experts are theorizing to be massive dogs. Curiously, two inflatable dolls were found in the beds within the hotel room. A gun was found at the scene. Authorities were unable to pick up fingerprints from the gun or the body of the young woman. Police are baffled, 'It's as though her fingerprints were burned off. The ideas kids these days get from movies'" _Bela?_ Dean has the article about Bela's death. Is it pity? Does he feel _responsible? Why the hell does Dean have this in his-?_

Just as Sam finished reading the article Dean emerged from the bathroom in a puff of condensed water vapor.

"What's this?" Sam asked holding up the article so his brother could see.

Dean took one look at it and all emotion seemed to melt from his face. He turned from Sam getting dressed and shrugged, false nonchalance rolling off him as he averted his eyes, "Nothin' just an article I found."

Sam rolled his eyes, "An article about Bela, you mean. Why would you keep this?" Sam asked, trying to keep the frustration from his voice. _Why do all of our conversations feel so forced lately?_

Another shrug, "Professional courtesy."

"Huh," Sam huffed. A scowl marred his features with disbelief. His brother's, or lack thereof, were really pissing him off, "There was nothing professional or courteous about her when she was near us. I mean she screwed us over every chance she got. Dean, she stole the Colt, our one and only offense against Lilith and her cronies."

Dean fixed his brother with a frown of his own as annoyance quickly replaced the pseudo-indifference, "Yeah, she was a bitch, but she did help us out a few times. If I remember correctly she's the only reason we were able to save Bobby from that freaky Freddy Krueger kid." Dean stopped for a moment arching an eyebrow and looking off into the distance, "Hey. Say that five times fast." An impish grin replaced the scowl for a second as Dean mentally tested his aptitude at the accelerated alliteration.

Sam's phone suddenly rang, startling him out of his thoughts for a moment. Dean smirked, thinking he'd gotten out of explaining the newspaper clipping.

Sam's brow furrowed again as he looked at the newspaper article and brought the phone to his ear. After closer inspection he noticed some pencil marks that he missed in his incredulity over the fact that Dean was willing to keep a reminder of the woman who had literally damned him. The meaning of the circled words and phrases sunk in as Sam's chest tightened. "throat ripped out" "claw marks slashing deep into torso and chest" "abdomen eviscerated" Dean wasn't _remembering_ Bela, he was _documenting_ her death at the claws of the Hell hounds. He was researching how _he _would die at the claws of the Hell hounds. Sam skipped right past anger and leapt neatly into rage. His fist clenched around the paper effectively crushing the reminder of his brother's lack of faith in him. He was suddenly nauseous. Speaking into the phone without waiting to hear what the delivery guy had to say, "Never mind, we don't want the pizza. Sorry." Sam closed the phone and looked up as Dean glared at him incredulously.

"What the hell, Sammy?"

"Since when do you do research, Dean?" Sam's voice was calm; however, it was the deceptive calm before the storm. He knew Dean would recognize it easily, so he did nothing to mask his ire.

Confusion briefly settled on his brother's face while he wrapped his brain around the shift in conversation and the obvious anger festering behind Sam's scowl. As realization dawned, Sam was satisfied to see that at least his brother looked ashamed for his actions.

Sam wasted no time as he quickly closed the distance between them "I thought we were over this bullshit after the dream root case." Sam shoved his brother hard, ignoring the glare the act elicited. "I thought you were going to let me help you" Another shove. "I thought you didn't want to die." Sam could practically see his brother's patience ebbing with each pronounced push. "Why don't you trust me?" Sam gave one final shove and prepared himself for the onslaught, needing to scream, to fight, hell, maybe even throw a punch or two.

At Sam's final words the fight went out of his brother's eyes. He rounded his shoulders and completed a look Sam was neither accustom to nor comfortable seeing, "You're right, okay?

Somehow, Dean seemed to contract even further into himself,"If I'd told you how I'd felt earlier, told you that I didn't want to go to hell. That I needed your… your help. Maybe we could have found a way out of this mess," Dean looked up at Sam, his mask gone, fear and a deep sadness aging his features well beyond his 29 years, " but I just… I couldn't risk…" _you dying again._

Dean's words sprang to Sam's mind unbidden. We_ trap the crossroads demon, trick it, try to welch our way out of the deal in any way? You die. Okay? You die. Those are the terms._Sam could fill in the blanks. Hell, he could practically read his brother's mind most days without the truth being painfully etched onto Dean's face. The fact that Dean was articulating what Sam had wanted to say to his stubborn ass of a brother did nothing for the knot that formed in his stomach or the lump in his throat at seeing his superhero brother so open and honest about his ineptitudes. _There's no glory in an empty victory._

"I trust you, Sammy. I always have." Dean expressed his statement with a gentle shake of his head,"More than anyone else in the world." Dean chuckled at that, lightly punching him in the arm, "You've gotta know that by now, but I've got, what, a week and half" _11 days six hours _Sam mentally provided,_ "_until my bill comes due, and we don't have bubkis." At any other time, Sam would have laughed at his brother's choice of words or said something about spending too much time together, but now, with so little time left, the only reaction his brother's words got was a choked sob. Dean's eyes never left the crumpled piece of paper in Sam's hand.

"When I read that obit, I don't know, I just kind of lost hope." Dean looked up meeting Sam's eyes for the first time. "But if you still think this is worth it," _that I'm worth it_, "then let's get going." The slap on Sam's shoulder seemed to seal the deal. Dean gave it a light squeeze,_ thanks,_ before turning around and shoving the remainder of his clothing that was neither torn nor bloodstained into his duffel. "I got a call from Bobby earlier. He said he's got a new shipment of dust collectors that he thinks might have something worth reading in 'em."

Dean turned to see that Sam was still glued to the spot where he'd left him, the crumpled paper remaining as a vindictive reminder in his outstretched hand. Dean crossed the room in two strides, took the paper from his brother's hand, looked him in the eye, trust and hope reflected in his unguarded features, and threw it in the trash before grabbing his duffel and heading out to the Impala. Sam just stood there a moment letting the implications of his brother's actions sink in. Frustration and anger and fear and relief waged war over his mind. Finally, determination won out as Sam grabbed his bag, squared his shoulders and followed Dean out to the car. He couldn't lose his brother now.

"Hurry up, Sammy, before all these emotions ruin my appetite. Screw pizza. I'm thinkin' waffles!"

Not when he had so much sense to beat into that thick skull.

______

**Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it. If not… sorry, I'll try harder next time. I know it's been quite some time since the season 3 finale, and you're probably all sick of reading about it, but this has been stuck in my head for quite some time (although I realize it is kind of sad considering Dean went and died)… A couple things I wanted to clarify or make mention of: Globsters are a registered cryptid according to Wikipedia, the most recent sighting was called The Montauk Monster (look it up, very entertaining), The bank account idea was something I read in one of the hundreds, literally hundreds, of stories by K. Hanna Korossy. If you don't know of her, you should. Amazing writer. The basic idea is that Dean starts a Sammy fund so that the kid will have some cash after Dean dies… (I may expand on it since it was kind of glossed over in this fic. I loved the thought and conception that went into its conception) Also, the last name Dean used for the account, Browning, is another type of rifle. Just a little tidbit that I thought was clever that I didn't think many people would get right off the bat. Not that I'm belittling you all, far from it… Damn… I sound like quite the jackass don't I?… foot********mouth. I have no idea where this was going or where it started from… If you see any huge mistakes don't hesitate to tell me. I don't have a beta, so what you see is straight outa my head. Happy Holidays everybody! And to those of you lucky enough to still be in school, Happy end of Finals Season!**

-Jake


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